Writing…and rewriting…and rewriting…you get the idea…

So I know I mentioned a little about this last time, but writing is more revising than it is writing a first draft. I wrote my entire first draft in four months. I’ve been revising for two years since then. Remember that almost one year of that was kind of a joke because I had a new baby, but still. The only good thing in all of that? The manuscript is so much better. I’ve had agents request partials. I mean, that’s at least something. I’ve also had beta readers really like my writing. That’s something, too. And I’ve gotten lots of great feedback that has made the book even better. The characters are more developed, the plot isn’t far-fetched, and the pacing is good. Hopefully this will one day land me an agent.

One other thing I’ve been working on is the first paragraph of chapter one. One of my beta readers liked how she read it (which is the one I have posted), but thought it could be even stronger. Another beta reader doesn’t like the kind of openings that are vague and kind of omniscient. You tell me. I’ll post three possibilities for a beginning and you can leave a comment about which one would hook you in the best.

Option 1: “Ethan should never have agreed to this. It was one thing to engage in a friendly round of swordplay with Lord Andrew, his closest friend. It was another thing entirely to accept Lord Malcolm’s challenge — not one of his closest friends. And yet here he was, facing one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom.”

Option 2: “Some things were secret for a reason. Ethan knew that. Perhaps better than anyone. It had been engrained into him like a slow, constant drip of water from the time he could remember. And yet, he’d still betrayed the most secret knowledge of all. He’d revealed too much. Simon would know — even if no one else did. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second and steadied the hand on his sword. Whether he liked it or not, things were going to change.”

Option 3: “It had started like any relatively normal day. Ethan had reluctantly agreed to meet Andrew for a round of swordplay. He’d walked into the awe-inspiring hall, without feeling the least bit of awe. He was accustomed to the smooth, stone walls, the shafts of light from the early afternoon sun streaming through the high, narrow windows, the swords neatly arranged in racks, and the groups of men standing in small clusters, some talking, some practicing intricate patterns.”